


As Dire Chance And Fateful Cockup Would Have It

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zählt
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman makes it home in time for Christmas. Canine abduction, verbal abuse and terrible tree choices ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Dire Chance And Fateful Cockup Would Have It

**Author's Note:**

> For Momo. Schmoopy schmoop.

“You know, Deniz,” Lena observed conversationally from the back seat as she braced herself against the door to avoid being thrown against Alexander’s child seat by a sudden swerve, “I’m slowly beginning to understand why your chauffeur service never came to anything. You just merged into the wrong lane, by the way.”

“Hah bloody hah. No I didn’t.” Deniz shot her a sour glance in the rear-view mirror. “Whose fault is it we’re late, anyway?”

“Let me think. Yours, actually.”

“How is it my fault that the internet wasn’t working and I couldn’t look up flight arrivals online?!”

“Well, you could’ve written down or printed out the info when Roman emailed it… what was it, three weeks ago?” Lena inquired sweetly while reassuring herself for roughly the seventeenth time that her seatbelt was properly fastened.

Deniz changed lanes again, eliciting a honk of protest from the driver he’d just cut off. “Nobody likes a smartass, Lena,” he grumbled. “And it was Alex who disconnected the modem, let’s not forget.”

“Hello? Your cables are in plain sight and the modem has shiny lights! Any two-year-old would go for it!”

“Christmas spirit, people!” Florian interjected from the passenger seat, smirking. “And you could’ve avoided all this aggravation if you’d let me drive.”

Deniz snorted. “Yeah, right. My dad would’ve loved explaining to his insurance provider that you crashed his car.”

“Is he gonna love explaining it was you any better?” Florian asked innocently.

“Deniz,” Lena repeated from the backseat. “Wrong lane.”

“Need potty,” Alexander announced loudly as Lena and Deniz continued arguing.

“No, it’s not. I may only have had that chauffeur service for a few weeks-“

“Two. Two weeks.”

“-but I do know the way to the airport, okay?”

“I’m sure you do, but-“

“Guys, no sweat!” Florian interrupted. “We’ve got ten minutes until the plane lands and he still needs to go through baggage claim and immigration…”

“Need _potty_.”

“No he doesn’t,” Deniz shot back, sounding hassled. “He’ll need to wave his passport for two seconds in passing, and he’s flying Business so his baggage will be out first. And knowing Roman, he’ll be the first off the plane and he’s been gone for three months and it’s one day to Christmas Eve and he’ll have to wait and he’ll never let me live this down. _Scheiße_!” He slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

“ _Scheiße_!” Alexander echoed delightedly from his seat. Lena shot the back of Deniz’s head A Look.

“Er, sorry,” he said sheepishly before fixing the toddler with a stern glance in the mirror. “Alexander, forget I said that, okay? We don’t say that word. Ever.”

Florian tried to suppress his amusement, not very successfully. “Dude, seriously, stop spazzing. We’ll be there in five minutes.” He twisted around in his seat to ruffle Alexander’s hair. “Five minutes ‘til there’s a potty, champ. Can you… _whoa fuck_!” He grabbed for the dashboard to steady himself as Deniz abruptly jerked the car back across the two lanes he had changed earlier.

“Sorry! I was in the lane for long-term parking.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along,” Lena exclaimed exasperatedly, “and could you kindly try not to kill us on the way there, and Florian, can you bloody well not say fuck in front of my kid?”

“ _Mama duck said, ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ but only four bloody ducks came back_ ,” Alexander sang happily, clapping his hands.

Deniz and Florian did their best to look contrite.

“Damn. Er, sorry, Lena.”

“Yeah, soz. But hey, we’re here!” Deniz breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled into the airport’s short-term parking area.

Lena rubbed her eyes. “Why did I consent to spend Christmas with you lot, again?”

“Because we’re fun and the alternative was a stuffy awkward nightmare Chez Steinkamp, and also you love me?” Florian supplied hopefully.

“Because you had nothing better to do?” Deniz summarised.

“Mama, Scheiße in my damn pants,” Alexander announced sadly.

 

***

 

Deniz’ mobile beeped even as they raced through the sliding doors into the arrivals area. He whipped it out mid-run and groaned.

_Am here. So are press, yay? WHERE ARE YOU, ASSHOLE?_

Deniz lengthened his stride. He barely registered when Florian called after him that they’d quickly take Alexander to the restroom. Dodging baggage-laden travellers with airport trolleys, he raced towards a cluster of microphone-waving, camera-flashing reporters off to one side of the main arrivals gate. He heard Roman’s voice – clipped tone, sounding tired but polite and professional – long before he saw Roman himself.

“…so yes, I’d definitely call this ambassadorial tour a success and I’m very happy to have been able to represent the Reichenbach Centre in this prestigious capacity. Yes, our Canadian colleagues have been extremely welcoming. What was that? The change in management? No, those rumours are entirely unfounded, Mr. Grünwald. The standards of professionalism and sportsmanship have been notably elevated since Isabelle Reichenbach took over the reins, and I have every hope that will continue in the new year. But now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“ _Roman_!”

Deniz rudely shoved through the assembled reporters, ignored a stumbling cameraman’s growl of protest, and launched himself at Roman before he could even properly see him.

“Oof!”

They might have both gone down if Deniz hadn’t turned the force of impact into a spin, whirling around his own axis with Roman wrapped tightly in his arms, feet clear off the ground. The smell of Roman’s shampoo hit him with sudden familiarity, the skin of Roman’s neck smooth and salty against his mouth in damp, intimate contrast to the bland softness of an unfamiliar woollen scarf.

“Deniz.” Dimly, Deniz was aware of cameras flashing and questions shouted, some of which included his own name – _Mr. Öztürk, did you_ this and _Mr. Öztürk, how does it feel_ that – but he ignored them all, and then there was Roman’s face just in front of his own, Roman’s voice and Roman’s breath as he chided, “You’re _late_ , you jerk,” brushing his thumb across the tip of Deniz’ nose. Deniz grinned at him and pulled him closer, higher off the ground, tighter into his arms. Roman’s eyes, though tired, were dancing, and Roman’s mouth was curling in a pleased, warm, private smile and that, of course, was all that mattered.

Deniz dove in to cover that smile with his lips, press be damned. The cameras were still flashing, and delighted questions rained down on their heads. Neither of them paid the slightest bit of attention.

“I’ve missed you,” Deniz murmured.

“I’ve missed you too, nutcase,” Roman replied breathlessly, then shoved him off to regain his own feet. “Now, I know you’re a total slut for cameras but I’ve been travelling for twenty-two hours and my body thinks it’s last night’s bedtime. I need some coffee, and then can we get the hell out of here, please?”

***

 

Deniz went to get the coffee to go while Roman caught up with the others.

“Ambassador Ice Princess Romana!” Flo greeted his brother. “You look like shit warmed over.”

Roman rolled his eyes and pulled his brother into a hug that Flo endured with minimal squirming. “I’ve missed you too, brat. I see you’ve managed not to get dumped yet. How _do_ you put up with him?” he asked Lena as she wrapped her arms around him.

She grinned at him impishly. “He has his uses.”

Roman mock-shuddered. “Rhetorical question, love. I really don’t want to know.” He nodded his thanks at Deniz, who had rejoined them and was handing him a steaming coffee cup.

“I think the press hounds are waiting for another go,” Deniz observed, giving the hovering reporters nearby a discouraging glare over Roman’s head. “We better get a move on.”

“All kinds of fine with me.” Roman surrendered his suitcase and carry-on without even a pretence of protest. Deniz and Flo exchanged a glance and raised eyebrows at this uncharacteristic tractability, but neither of them commented.

“Let’s get going.”

“Wait.” Lena froze in her tracks. “Where’s Alexander?”

Flo stared at a spot on the floor between him and Lena as if he expected the little boy to magically appear there. “He was there just a second ago!”

Lena let out a stream of foul curses. “I swear I’m going to get one of those child harnesses and never let him out of it. Alexander? _Alexander_!”

The search that ensued was frantic but short-lived, to everyone’s relief. Alexander came racing up to them three minutes later, clutching a highly indignant and confused beagle wearing a dangling lead with a plastic sign that read _Please don’t pet me, I’m working._ (To be entirely fair, Florian argued later, apart from the whole not being able to read issue, “search dog abduction” was not exactly the same as “petting.”)

“Puppy puppy puppy, Alex find a puppy, look Mama, Flo, lookit my PUPPY!”

Lena stared at her offspring and his squirming charge with an expression of utter, though somewhat familiar, horror. Flo guffawed discreetly, which was something of an accomplishment in itself, since the two concepts didn’t usually go together. Deniz’ face disappeared between Roman’s hair and scarf, from where it emitted small choking noises.

Roman blinked at the toddler tiredly. “Hello, small person. I see we now steal airport personnel. Uhm, well done?”

It took another twenty minutes to restore the dog to a relieved security officer, calm down the howling toddler, and pack everyone into the car, this time with Lena and Flo squeezing into the back with Alexander so Roman could have the passenger seat, where he promptly slumped in utter exhaustion.

“Please tell me we have nothing strenuous planned for the rest of the day?”

Deniz cleared his throat. “Well, there’s the Christmas party at the Centre, and then we’re supposed to drop by my Dad’s and then Ingo and Annette’s, and then I thought we could all go to the Christmas market together… and all that’s tomorrow,” he added quickly, grinning at the growing horror in Roman’s face. “This afternoon and evening, it’s just the five of us. There are cookies, and we’ve got the tree up-“

“Trees!” Florian interjected from the back. “There are two.”

“I wasn’t counting your crippled abomination.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr _Coloured Christmas Trees Are Totally Cool_ ,” Flo shot back in disgust. “At least mine’s a real tree.”

“Define real tree, because I don’t think ‘ _growing towards the ground_ ’ is it.”

“Didn’t someone say something about Christmas spirit earlier?” Lena inquired. She had to raise her voice to be heard, as in the seat beside her, Alexander was still wailing about the loss of “his” puppy.

Roman sank deeper into his seat, watching the grey, snowless landscape flash by. “Home, sweet home,” he murmured, but he was grinning as he said it.

***

 

The flat smelled pleasantly of ginger and spices, but Roman stopped short in the doorway, staring at Tree No. 1.

“It’s…”

“Yeah,” said Flo, shoving past him.

Roman helplessly turned his attention to Tree No. 2. “And this one’s…”

“I know, right?” Deniz grabbed his shoulders from behind and gently steered him all the way into the flat so Lena and Alexander could come in.

Roman turned back to Tree No. 1. His mouth was making small twitching motions. “It’s… pink.”

“Magenta,” Deniz corrected. “It was advertised as magenta. And the sales clerk said magenta was THE Christmas colour this year, so.”

“It’s pink and sparkly,” Roman repeated, running his eyes up and down the – yes, there was no better word for it – pink synthetic tree with its cheerfully sparkling silver lights. It twinkled back at him, pinkly.

Next to it, a dwarf pine hunched miserably. It _was_ a real tree, but that was as much as could be said for it. The poor thing was badly stunted, branches sticking out every which way, and the tattered crown was curled back on itself, pointing nearly all the way back to the floor. One side was only sparsely needled, although it had been strategically positioned so the ampler side faced the room. The whole sorry affair was draped in enough Christmas ornaments and lights to make its branches nearly disappear but somehow that only served to highlight its unfortunate physique.

Roman hastily turned back towards Tree No. 1 to see if it looked any better by comparison. It did, a little, but it was still glaringly, obviously, unmissably pink.

Lena gave him a commiserating half-hug in passing. “Try not to look directly at them,” she advised. “You’ll get used to them.”

“Ah, is that how you stick it out with Flo?” Roman asked, grinning, and promptly earned a painful elbow in the ribs from his little brother. “Ow.”

He took Lena’s advice and determinedly turned his back on the Christmas trees. Peeling himself out of his outerwear, he peeked over Lena’s shoulder into the massive pot simmering on the stovetop.

“Is that mulled wine you’re making? It smells divine.”

“Yup. Old secret Bergmann recipe, which means _back the hell off_.” Lena waved a ladle at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll even clean your precious ceramic stovetop after.”

Roman raised his hands, palms out, and retreated. He didn’t have to look for other avenues of entertainment for long. Just then Deniz came bounding out of the bedroom, where he’d dumped Roman’s suitcase, and unceremoniously dragged him onto the couch in a flying tangle of limbs.

“Missed you,” he murmured into Roman’s ear, arms wrapped around him from behind. Roman grinned and gave him a token swat of protest before settling comfortably into the embrace.

“I do believe I’ve mentioned that I’ve missed you too, idiot.”

Deniz snorted, nuzzling his cheek. “And your unfailingly romantic use of pet names, Schatz.”

“Tosser.”

“Oh yeah. Gimme more, baby.”

“Call me baby again and I’ll give you a kick to the nuts.”

“Oy. Get a room, you two.” Having deposited Alexander on the floor with his toy truck, Flo flopped down next to them. Roman lazily glared at him from the circle of Deniz’ arms.

“We have a room. We have a whole flat. Guess who’s squatting in it without paying rent and could be evicted at a moment’s notice?”

Florian looked utterly unimpressed. “Yeah, whatevs. So, how was Canada? Did you see any moose? How were the Canadians?”

“Canada was very snowy, very cold, and stupidly huge. No, I didn’t see any moose, thank god; the skunks and raccoons were enough. The Canadians were terrifyingly polite and way too obsessed with hockey.” Roman smiled at his brother. “Apart from the polite bit, you’d love it.”

Flo gave a pained groan. “Dude, it’s the best country in the world! You’re just completely wasted on it!”

Roman reached out to ruffle his hair. “I do seem to recall a few nights of being completely wasted, yes. They do know how to drink.”

Flo groaned again, longingly this time.

Roman leaned back. “It was fun. Crazy and way too much work, but fun. I’ll show you the pictures later.” He breathed deep, inhaling the scents of ginger, spiced wine and pine needles, and let the air escape from his lungs in a long, relieved sigh.

“Roman? You okay? Got a migraine coming?” Roman opened his eyes – he hadn’t realised he’d closed them – to see Deniz hovering over him with an anxious expression. He shook his head.

“Just knackered. It’s been a long flight.”

“You sure? I can get your medication if you want. Aren’t you supposed to take it in advance?”

“Deniz.” Roman flapped a hand at his boyfriend impatiently. “I’m fine. I can tell the difference, okay? It’s not a migraine.”

“Okay.” Deniz didn’t stop looking at him like he was about to keel over, though, so Roman sighed and grabbed at his shirt collar.

“Honestly. You’d think I was eighty and on my deathbed. What do I have to do to get you to stop fretting?” Not waiting for an answer, he hauled Deniz in for a kiss. Florian made an exaggerated retching noise and hurriedly went to join Lena in the kitchen. Neither of them paid him any mind.

When they finally came up for air, Deniz looked slightly less worried, but unrepentant. “You can’t exactly blame me, after last autumn,” he pointed out. “If I hadn’t called in Oliver…”

“…I’d still believe I was dying, yeah, yeah.” He tried for a flippant tone but didn’t quite hit it; those two nightmarish weeks in August defied even the blackest of humour. In retrospect, he was still appalled at how easily he had accepted the worst; how a part of him had seemed to think that this was how it had to be: naturally he wouldn’t make it farther than thirty-one, with half his dreams aborted and the other half mired in bitterness. Naturally he’d only get half-time. Less than. If dictionaries came with illustrations, they’d have to put his face next to _pessimism_.

He hadn’t even sought a second opinion. It was Deniz who’d called Oliver, secretly, against Roman’s wishes; Deniz who’d stubbornly endured all Roman’s rage and abuse when he’d found out; Deniz who hadn’t said so much as “I told you so” when the first specialist Oliver had called in had diagnosed severe stress-induced migraines, and had been backed up by a third, then a fourth one.

It had taken a fifth one, though, and an official red-faced apology from Dr. Hausner, his first doctor, before Roman was able to believe it.

It wasn’t like the scare had been good for nothing. It had got him back together with Deniz, for one thing, jolting him into the realisation that a good thing was worth the continued effort of maintenance, even despite the issues and doubt. Perhaps more importantly, though, it had made him understand that he wasn’t done; that all the things he’d given up on out of pragmatism, cynicism, and the sheer perverse drive of self-sabotage that had plagued him all his life, were perhaps not entirely worth giving up on just yet.

So here he was, four months later, with a successful world tour as Germany’s male World Championships Ambassador of Figure Skating under his belt and the press buzzing with talk of his unlikely comeback, and physically no worse for the wear but for a careful regimen of preventive migraine medication. Did he believe in it yet? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever quite stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now, though, perhaps not expecting it to happen right this second was enough.

Belatedly, he realised that Deniz had been babbling at him excitedly whilst setting up the laptop on the coffee table, for reasons he had apparently missed.

“…get your real present tomorrow, of course, but this one only worked today, because of the time zones.”

Roman looked confusedly from the laptop to his boyfriend’s excited grin. A terrible suspicion began to dawn in him. “Deniz, I’ve told you before, those seasonal internet porn specials are never what they claim to be. Remember when you signed up for that Easter Special at www.thelonelyrentboy.com and ended up watching some poor pimply kid squeezing plastic eggs out of his arse for forty agonising minutes?”

Over in the kitchen, Florian suddenly lapsed into a very loud and extended coughing fit.

Alexander, playing with his toy truck on the floor, looked up at him concernedly. “Flo, you okay?”

Lena was patting Florian solicitously on the back. “Flo’s fine, Spatz,” she told her son, mouth twitching suspiciously. “Flo’s juuust fine.”

Deniz was looking wounded, something he was exceedingly good at. “You promised me we’d never speak of those forty minutes again.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” Roman eyed the laptop nervously. “It’s just… well…”

Deniz sighed. “Shut up and look.”

Roman squinted at the screen, which showed a video player and a lot of surrounding text in what appeared to be Cyrillic, accompanied by various ads for big-busted girls with names like Наташа and светлана. None of which Roman found particularly reassuring.

“What is this, Russian? Did I mention, Deniz, I’d be perfectly happy if you got me a new hoodie for training or took me to the movies sometime?”

Deniz rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think you have no confidence in me at all.”

“Sometimes you’d be right,” muttered Roman, but he didn’t really mean it and they both knew it.

Deniz shoved him aside rudely and opened a separate tab. “I hope I got the time right,” he muttered to himself as he opened something that looked like a world clock site. Roman didn’t really pay attention to the screen; he was happy enough for the unobserved moment. There was time enough to take a deep breath and finally relax, to look about his home and consciously appreciate being back in it.

The tacky gnomes were draped in tinsel, and a dozen or so Christmas cards hung on a golden string above the living room dresser. The Christmas trees, uniquely ugly as they both were, filled the room with colour and cheer, as did the silver garlands above the windows and the crayon drawings of St. Nikolaus on the fridge that clearly bore Alexander’s hand.

Over in the kitchen, Florian was dumping orange slices into the pot of mulled wine, then yelped in surprised protest when Lena’s hand shot out, lightning-quick, to dab a bit of molten sugar on his nose. She grinned at him mischievously, then stood up on tiptoes to kiss the sugar off, and only put in a token protest when Florian pulled her close for a proper kiss. On the floor near them, Alexander happily banged his truck to bits with the wine-stained ladle his mother had dropped.

All things told, Roman thought, as far as dysfunctional alternative families went, it wasn’t so bad.

He was rudely dragged out of his indulgent reverie by a nudge in the ribs and the sudden intrusive sound of an unfamiliar ringtone. It took him a second to realise it came from the laptop screen, and by then Deniz had leaned forward to hit the “accept call” button.

“Thank god! I was starting to think I’d messed up the times!”

Deniz’ relieved exclamation barely registered with Roman. All he had eyes for was the face that suddenly filled the small player screen – a fine-boned face, pale-skinned and framed by glossy brown hair; a face that he’d know anywhere.

He leaned forward, not even bothering to feign nonchalance. It had been too long.

“Jennifer Steinkamp, you utter bitch. Trust you to make an entrance.“

The wide hazel eyes crinkled with mischief. “Shush, you. It’s Yelena Korovina these days. You never know who’s listening in.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure the Secret Service has bugged every server of the Russian version of Skype or whatever this is, on the off-chance that some former German skating princess is still alive,” Roman teased, but his heart wasn’t in the mockery; it was too good to see her again. “I thought it was too risky for you to be in contact at all.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, too, if a bit sourly. “Blame your bastard of a boyfriend. He threatened he’d blow my cover to Marian if I didn’t agree to talk to you for Christmas.”

“I’ll be sure to punish him later,” Roman promised, and manfully ignored the vicious pinch Deniz delivered to his thigh. “How are you doing, Jenny? You look radiant.”

“Thanks, darling. You look like lukewarm vomit,” Jenny replied sweetly, and pretended she couldn’t see him flipping her off. “I’m grand, actually. The skating school’s taken off beautifully. Lars is grumbling over all the work, of course, but he loves it really. A dozen skaters to yell at round the clock. He’s in heaven.”

Roman grinned. “It suits you. Miss the family at all?”

A shadow passed briefly over her face; she shrugged. “Vanessa, sometimes. My parents – not really. I get the occasional stupid urge but then I remind myself that they made me miserable most of my life. It’s better this way.” She glowered at him. “And your oath of secrecy remains in place, just so you know.”

Roman nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart. I don’t see much of them these days, anyway. Isabelle runs the Centre now.”

“Ah, yes. The Reichenbach girl. I did think she showed promise.” Her teeth flashed in a perfect Jennifer Steinkamp smile, ruthless and beguiling. “I hope she’s making their lives hell.”

“Such spirit of the season, Jenny,” Roman mocked; seeing her so illusively close, he missed her suddenly, badly. “No one can compete with you, but she’s doing her best, I think.”

She waved her parents and Isabelle away in the same impatient gesture. “Never mind them. How are you, Roman? I was watching your ambassador tour.”

Warmth filled him unexpectedly, tip to toe. “You were?”

She frowned. “Of course I was, you moron. Quite the comeback. What brought that on?”

He shrugged, not looking at Deniz, not thinking back. “Change of… attitude, I suppose.”

She nodded; smiled wryly. “About time, too. You’re still good, you know.”

He swallowed. He longed, with sudden fierceness, to be sitting with her in a café somewhere, sharing lattes and secrets; longed to be with her someplace they could still be themselves, still tell each other everything. But he knew that era had passed, at some point between the time she’d died and he’d thought he would; and really, that was alright. Things changed, and he’d rather know her happy than have her near for his own needs. Still…

“Jenny,” he said, and “Yelena,” she corrected him, smiling. There was a hint of sadness to the smile, though, and he thought suddenly that she must know how he felt. She was Jennifer Steinkamp, of course; she’d never admit that she felt the same way back.

He watched her sit up straighter; sensed, despite the distance and time zone and pixellation, that she was rallying to detach, and automatically did the same himself.

“I have to go, Roman. But it was good to see you,” she added, and then, with unaccustomed warmth, “ You don’t even look half bad, you know.”

He smiled past the painful lump in his throat. “Break a leg, princess.”

“Break a leg until we die.” She smiled back at him, fiercely; touched her perfectly manicured fingers to her mouth and kissed her fingertips and blew. The screen went black before he could mime catching the kiss.

He found himself staring at the empty screen, blinking back sudden, stupid tears. Deniz, who had been pretending to help Flo and Lena with the mulled wine, was suddenly back on the couch with him, looking anxious.

“Roman? You okay?” His eyes flickered to the screen, then back to Roman’s face, steely indignation mixing with concern. “Did she say something…? Shit, I should have known-”

Roman shook his head and put a finger over Deniz’ lips even as he pulled him close. “No. Hey. Shush. This was…” He paused, collecting his words, collecting himself.

Deniz smiled at him, understanding somehow. Roman didn’t know how. It was crazy; it shouldn’t work, after everything.

Somehow it did, even still.

“Okay present, then?” Deniz asked, dark eyes dancing.

Roman smiled back. “Best present ever.”

***


End file.
